


love is the kill, your heart's still wild

by sleeptalker



Category: GLOW (2017)
Genre: Debbie Is Not Heterosexual, F/F, homoerotic wrestling, neither is Ruth but we knew that already, they're gay ok just try and stop me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-01 16:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11490498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeptalker/pseuds/sleeptalker
Summary: Ruth and Debbie try to wrestle with their feelings.(Spoiler alert, it doesn't work.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is ?? defs gonna be a multi-chap but i currently have no idea HOW many chapters
> 
> also it's set after they start filming the second season of GLOW. so like, maybe around a year after 1x01

Ruth sat up in bed gingerly, mindful of waking Sheila. In her half-asleep state she couldn’t remember what it was that had woken her, but it was early - too early, the summer sunlight weak through the blinds - and whatever it was couldn’t possibly be important enough to warrant being awake at this hour.

And yet, she heard a muffled sound from behind the door. 

What was it? An attempted robbery? A fire? Some other kind of emergency? 

Whoever-it-was knocked, twice. Loudly. 

Was that what had woken her? 

Another knock. 

They were going to wake up Sheila. And God knows Ruth would never hear the end of it if she allowed that to happen. 

She hesitated a moment longer, then made up her mind and quietly got out of bed, slipping on the flip-flops she kept nearby. (It’s not that she didn’t trust Sheila not to track in mud and bugs from her time spent in the woods, it’s just that she’d stepped barefoot in dried up mud one too many times since they started rooming together.)

Before she could unlock the door, the mystery knocker spoke up. 

“Oh, for fucks sake.” 

Debbie?

She slid the chain back as quickly as possible, fixed the straps on her tank top, wondered exactly how messy her hair looked, and pulled open the door just as Debbie raised her fist to knock again.

Looking a little caught off guard, Debbie shifted her weigh from one sneaker-clad foot to the other. Ruth’s eyes flicked up to her uncharacteristically bare face, careful not to look too long. It’d been months since their last altercation, months since the last time Debbie snapped at her, but it wasn’t like they were _friends._

Or…they were. But only insomuch as they were coworkers who were able to hold pleasant conversation without either of them attempting to strangle the other. While it’d probably still seem incredibly tense to others, Ruth was actually pretty proud of their progress.

“I know it’s 6am,” Debbie began, with an eyeroll that Ruth couldn’t be sure wasn’t directed towards herself, “but I was gonna go for a morning jog.”

“That explains the outfit,” Ruth quipped, knowing she wouldn’t get a laugh. 

She was rewarded a tight smile, though. “I. Usually go with Cherry. It’s kind of a thing, you know, pre-show.” 

“Right.” She nodded, acting as if this wasn’t outstandingly new information. Acting as if it made complete sense. 

“Cherry, uh…she’s busy, I guess.” She raised her eyebrows, silently alluding to what Cherry _might_ be doing instead of working out with Debbie. “But, you know, I’m already awake, and it wouldn’t make a ton of sense to just go back to the room, so.” 

Ruth was maybe 70% sure she understood what Debbie was asking of her, but the concept was practically incomprehensible to her, so she felt it was probably safer to ask. “You…want me to go jogging with you?” 

“I kind of thought that was obvious,” she muttered, the continued in a more deliberately pleasant tone, “yes. I mean, if that’s okay with you. I know it’s like, stupid o’clock.” 

“Yeah…” Ruth nodded, feeling - what? Hazy? Happy? Delirious? “Yeah, sure. Just give me five minutes to get ready, okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Course.” 

They held eye contact for a split second too long as Ruth closed the door, and she attempted to diffuse the tension a little by shooting her a smile. It wasn’t returned, but it didn’t seem to make Debbie annoyed or go back on her offer, which she guessed was the most she could hope for. 

The door shut behind her, and she quickly rifled through her bedside drawers. From outside, she heard Debbie call, “I asked Rhonda and Melrose first, you know.” 

She supposed it was to make it seem less desperate, but to Ruth, third choice was an improvement. Third choice was great. Third choice was making the podium. 

* * *

They started out jogging, but that only lasted for the first block and a half. Ruth struggled to keep up as it was, clutching at a particularly bad stitch in her side. By the time they downgraded to walking, she had difficulty not succumbing to the pain and doubling over. 

“Alright?” Debbie asked, cool and free of concern. 

She managed a thumbs-up. 

This wasn’t convincing enough for Debbie however, who shortened her stride to a stop. “Sorry,” she said after a moment, her speech a little stunted, like she had to force her words out. “I forgot that you’re not used to this kind of thing.” 

“Yeah,” Ruth agreed, not sure if she should feel offended or not. “Um, just give me a minute, I’ll be fine.” 

Debbie nodded, and tactfully looked away while Ruth drank greedily from the plastic water bottle she’d (thankfully) remembered to bring. The water dripped down her chin in her haste to rehydrate, but in the moment she couldn’t bring herself to care, just swiping it away with her free hand. 

God, she was a mess. Only out for 15 minutes and already she was sweating, doubled over, and exhausted. 

When she was done, and able to straighten up without the pain in her side sharpening, Debbie turned back. “It’s, it’s different from training.” She shook her head, like her idea wasn’t being communicated the way she wanted to. “I mean, it’s different muscles, right? We’re - or, you’re - used to one thing, and this is…” 

“It’s different.” Ruth offered. “I don’t know. I’m not much of a jogger.” 

“Never have been,” Debbie joked, flatly. 

Her eyes snapped back to hers, wondering if she’d heard her right. It wasn’t often that Debbie made references to their history together - hardly happened at all, in fact. And when it did, it usually meant something. They were partnering up to go live for the first time, or finally addressing the thing that made them stop speaking in the first place, or…Or. 

Ruth let out a forced laugh. “Yeah, I know.” 

Debbie’s expression changed, briefly - a silent _thank you_ for not probing, for letting that little reference slip. 

Or, sometimes it meant nothing. 

* * *

They’d made it past the liquor store and the supermarket. In truth Ruth had no idea where they were actually going or if there even was a destination in mind at all, but she followed Debbie as they crossed the road and passed the little cafe, the one Bash and his mother sometimes met up at, if he’d had a long day of announcement practice and couldn’t make it back to her place for negotiations. Ruth’d taken a look at it last year, when Sam had first moved them out here, but it didn’t seem to be the kind of place she could afford.

Debbie caught her looking. “It’s really not that great.” 

“You’ve been?” She tried for casual interest. 

Debbie nodded. “A couple times. Their little sandwiches have nothing on the burgers at the diner, though.” 

“I’ll bet.” 

She took a swig of her water, but Ruth could feel her eyes on her. Debbie’s gaze always felt physical, like just by looking at Ruth, she was branded. 

She shivered. 

“It’s just, uh. Just straight on.” Debbie piped up, pointing ahead. 

Ruth smiled politely to show that she’d heard, and they continued on their way.

* * *

The place that Debbie had been leading her to ended up being a small dog park, surrounded by traffic; roads on all sides. 

It wasn’t the most pleasant place to be, but for some reason it made perfect sense that this would be the place Debbie would enjoy spending her mornings. It was relatively close to nature, quiet, and most importantly, far away from the rest of their lives. 

It was more of a privilege to be here, with her, than she’d previously thought. 

They found a bench and sat. Not opposite sides, as they might have a few months ago. (Of course, Ruth still had to be careful in keeping her distance, not allowing any part of their bodies to touch. Accidentally or otherwise.) 

“So,” Ruth started, when the silence stretched past _reasonably comfortable_ into _awkward._ “Feeling confident about tonight?” 

It was their third show of the season, and the first time that Ruth was planned to win. The next few episodes, Sam said, were to chronicle Debbie trying win back her title. It was a twist, sure to keep viewers interested.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Debbie asked, somewhat confrontationally. 

Ruth wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she stared ahead. Focused on the couple walking hand-in-hand across the street, smiling and laughing as the woman reached up on her toes to draw her boyfriend into a kiss-

And looked away. 

“I mean, maybe I’m a little nervous.” Debbie admitted. Ruth couldn’t be sure if her softer tone was due to her seeing how Ruth had just reacted to the happy couple, or if she was just trying to be nice. “The audience is so used to me winning. A change might be…I don’t know.” 

“Unsettling?” 

“Exactly. Like, maybe they’ll find it off-putting.” 

“I don’t think they will, though. The underdog vibe will get people more invested. You’re the all-American hero, like superman, you’re young and beautiful and patriotic and…and easy to root for.” 

She could feel Debbie’s eyes on her again, boring into the side of her face. Her cheeks, suddenly burning. She’d said too much, acted too earnest. What kind of casual work colleague says those kind of things to another?

“Sorry, I was hoping you were gonna keep complimenting me.” Debbie said after a moment, with a shrug. “No, I mean, I get that in the long run, this match is gonna be beneficial. I’m just worried, I guess. But it’s mostly just…just pre-stage fright.” 

“Yeah,” Ruth replied, playing up her agreement. “Of course. It’s just the usual stuff.” She appreciated the fact that Debbie hadn’t called out her unprompted slew of compliments, which was what she had feared. But it was difficult _not_ to say nice things about Debbie. Whenever she was around her, it was like all she could see were the little perfections that made up Debbie Eagan as a person. 

Ruth wasn’t deluded. She knew that Debbie had flaws. She’d bore witness to most of them at least once. Regardless, everything that she said about her was true. She was young, obviously. Her character was fiercely patriotic, of course, that was kind of her thing. She was beautiful. 

Especially currently, with the early morning sun dribbling across her features. It wasn’t often that she saw Debbie without makeup, and there was something intimate about seeing her this way, sweaty and tired and not quite ready to start the day. 

A dog barked a few feet away. The noise was enough to draw Ruth out of her thoughts, and she promptly had the sinking realisation that she’d been staring for too long. 

But Debbie had been staring too. 

Ruth looked away quickly, but couldn’t help sneaking a glance back. Debbie hadn’t turned away like she was expecting, but was continuing to look right at her - that is, until she noticed that Ruth was looking, too. 

Debbie cleared her throat and turned to watch the people with their dogs. After a minute she suggested they leave. 

And Ruth followed. As always.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie has complicated feelings about her mother and Ruth meets the family (again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy this one fought me tooth n nail but here it is! enjoy!

There was something about Ruth, she decided. Just _something._

She had no idea what; but it was as if being around her was addictive or something. Ruth was a bad habit she couldn’t quit. Ruth was the cigarettes she smoked on the balcony of the old house, before she had Randy.

Ruth was wrestling. 

Ha. Yeah. Ruth was wrestling. Being in such close proximity to her was often painful, but the end point was worth it. Although probably their relationship would cause some damage in the long term.

(Already one of the cast members had experienced a physical injury. Rhonda hadn’t had the time to equalise her weight before landing, and so had twisted her arm in an awkward way. To her credit, it wasn’t until after the match was done that she quietly requested medical attention from Arthie, in the dressing rooms where the crowd couldn’t see.) 

Debbie’d had her share of physical aches and pains from the show already, too. Though it was nothing as serious as the broken arm that Rhonda had to go to hospital for. Mainly bruises and pulled muscles. A concussion, that one time. 

Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to hate the new marks on her body. Ruth was the first one to point it out - there was a strange sense of achievement whenever she looked in the mirror and found a new bruise, or attempted to get out of bed only to notice that her legs still hurt from the night before. 

She didn’t pretend to understand it, but had accepted it. Eventually.

“Debbie?” Someone knocked at the door. In her hazy, daydreaming state, she recognised her own name, but couldn’t place the voice. 

“Deb, hon?” 

Her mother. It was only 2:30, and she’d agreed to pick up Randy at 6. The only reason she could think of that would prompt her mother to go find her at the motel was that something was seriously wrong. 

Panic flickered through her for a moment. It had to be something to do with Randy. He was sick, he was in the hospital, he-

She flung the door open, only to be faced with her smiling and definitely _not_ grief-or-panic-stricken mother. That alleviated most of the worry. “What is it?”

“Deb, come see. We bought Randy the cutest little floatie - for the pool, you know? - and he loves it, you gotta see it.” 

Wait. “You left Randy in the pool on his own?” She thundered past her mother, politeness be damned. Honestly, that woman just didn’t seem to have a shred of sense nowadays-

“He’s with your stepfather, it’s fine.” 

Debbie heard her, but didn’t slow her pace. 

They were located at the back of the pool, Randy floating around in the water happily. Wanting to keep a shred of her anger just for dignity’s sake, Debbie noted that her stepfather didn’t seem to be keeping a watchful eye over him at all, rather lying back on one of the pool chairs, flicking through a newspaper.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, unnecessarily. 

“See? Everything’s fine,” her mother replied, clearly trying to be soothing. “We just thought we’d come meet you here for once - save you making your way to the diner.” 

“Right.” She nodded a couple times, briskly. “Well, thank you.” 

Randy noticed she was there, and reached out his arms, babbling. He kicked his way through the water to the edge of the pool, close enough for Debbie to be able to crouch down and pick him up. The pool water soaked into her side, but it was okay - it was only one of the shirts she usually used for training.

“It’s alright,” she cooed, “mommy’s here. It’s alright.” 

“Why don’t you sit down?” Her stepfather asked. 

“Yes,” her mom joined in, ever the partner in their tag-team guilt machine. “I feel like we’ve hardly spoken the past few months. Well, ever since the div- since that thing.” 

It was no secret that Debbie’s divorce hadn’t went well, but they were all trying to avoid mentioning it around Randy. He was picking up more and more words recently, and becoming acutely aware of the world around him. The way that Debbie saw it, if he didn’t know anything was wrong with the situation his parents were in, it wouldn’t cause him any emotional pain. 

Her, on the other hand. 

“I- I guess,” she said, lamely. Her mind had gone blank on any possible excuses. Practice was over for the day, and in truth she had no other concrete plans. “I mean, I’m busy later, but I can sit out for a little while.” 

Her mom pulled a deck chair out between Debbie and her stepfather. Debbie adjusted the height on the chair until she could sit upright, and held Randy in her lap, bouncing him a couple times to keep him interested. 

They chatted benignly. Things had always been a little forced between Debbie and her mother, but ever since the divorce, it was as if her mom was making an extra effort to be nice to her. Like she was some fragile china doll, ready to break at the slightest hint of incivility. As if her separation from Mark had broken her, somehow. What a load of bullshit. 

They slowly moved onto speaking about the show. She and Ron had been watching most of the episodes live, she said, and so had a bunch of their neighbours. It was a great show, although (she stressed) very unconventional.

“…but the girls all seem like pros, it’s hard to believe the amount of training you all had prior to shooting. I mean, I never thought I’d see it, little Debbie throwing herself around a wrestling ring with- Ruth!”

“Well, yeah, Ruth’s on the team, but there’s other women too, mom.” Debbie chided, shaking her head. 

“No, that’s not what I was saying.” Her mom wasn’t looking at her, rather at a spot just past her head. “Ruth!” 

Ruth’s presence was physical. Debbie felt her behind her deck chair even before Ruth made the awkward scurry around. 

“Good evening.” She said, a little too quickly, clutching the towel she’d brought out a little too close to her chest. 

“Ruth Wilder, in the flesh!” Debbie’s stepfather joked, eliciting a strained laugh from the subject. 

“Ruth, hon, we were just talking about the show.” 

“Oh?” She glanced at Debbie, seemingly trying to make eye contact. Debbie resolutely stared down at Randy, who was fidgeting restlessly in her lap. 

“Yes! It’s _so_ wonderful, really, we’ve been watching every episode!” 

“ _Almost_ every episode,” Debbie muttered. 

Ruth snickered, before discreetly covering it up with a fake cough. “That’s - well, that’s amazing, Loreen, I’m glad.” 

“Come, sit down!” Her mother suggested, as if the idea had just occurred to her. Debbie couldn’t help but feel as though she’d been wanting this to happen since she first arrived by the pool, and had simply waited for Ruth to leave her room before she pounced. 

“Oh… Oh, I don’t know, I mean, I should probably-“ Ruth scrambled to find a reasonable excuse, clearly floundering. 

Of course, that was when her mother went in for the kill. “You’ve already got all your pool stuff,” she gestured towards the towel that Ruth was still holding tightly against her, “and I promise our company isn’t _that_ bad, right, Deb?” 

She wanted to scream. Instead, she forced a toothy smile. 

Ruth caught her eye briefly, silently seeking approval. Quite frankly, it was ridiculous that after everything, she felt that she still had to do so…but then again, Debbie wasn’t sure she liked the idea of Ruth creeping into parts of her life _without_ asking permission. 

She nodded, and Ruth pulled a deck chair over, making a show of spreading the towel over it neatly. Probably just to avoid conversation for another few blissful seconds. Debbie knew the feeling. 

“You know, I couldn’t believe it at first,” her mother goes on, unaware of or just ignoring the awkwardness. “Your character - what’s her name-“ 

“Zoya,” Debbie supplied, rolling her eyes. 

“Zoya, that’s it. I could hardly believe that was really you, Ruth, it’s such a…well, the character seems nothing like you at all.” 

“That’s a good thing, I suppose,” her stepfather cut in. 

She couldn’t explain why, but this bothered Debbie. “I mean, she’s a actor. It’s a character she’s playing.” 

“Y-yes,” Ruth spoke at last, smiling in an overly-accommodating way. “But um, it was a definite challenge to get into character, like you said, Zoya’s very different to the other roles I’ve had.” 

“Other roles? Oh, what have you been doing in the time since we last met? I feel like we haven’t spoken in ages, and Debbie’s terrible with that kind of thing; never tells us what’s going on in her life, or in her friend’s lives for that matter. And you two are so close, as well.” She shook her head, part affection, part ignorance. 

“Uh,” Ruth started, glancing back at Debbie - for help? She wasn’t sure what Ruth expected her to give. “I mean, we’re…we were close friends, yes, but,” she was speaking slowly, choosing her words carefully, “we grew sort of distant the past couple years.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” her mom said, clutching her heart. “But I suppose that’s how it goes, at your age. Being on the show together must have brought you back together, that’s wonderful.” 

“Like fate,” Debbie remarked drily. 

Her mom didn’t pick up on her tone, and continued on in a similar vein, gushing about how great the show was and how proud she was of both girls. Debbie could feel Ruth’s gaze on her, and turned, expecting her to say something. Instead, she just caught her eye and made an attempt at a smile. A _we’re-in-this-together_ kind of smile, almost bashful. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Debbie found herself muttering, under her breath so that only Ruth could hear. For a moment, it was reminiscent of years past, before Randy, even before Mark, when she’d drag Ruth along to family gatherings just so she wasn’t alone. 

When she started things with Mark, he took Ruth’s place, but there was always something missing. He was too eager to talk to people; would walk around the room mingling with her cousins and great-aunts and god knows who else instead of standing by the wall with Debbie. 

Ruth had always known what to do, what to say. She missed those days sometimes. 

She looked away, forcing herself to remember Mark. Remember what Ruth had done. It was easy, occasionally, to forget why she was mad at Ruth at all. She couldn’t forget. 

Ruth must have realised something had changed in her expression, because she looked down and fiddled with her hands, as though she wasn’t sure what to do anymore. 

When her mom asked her a question, Ruth asked, _“huh?”_ as if she hadn’t heard at all, and Debbie wondered if she’d been thinking the same thing she had.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America loses. Ruth evaluates how she feels about being hated.

Debbie might well have been the star of the show, but any match with Machu Picchu was sure to get the crowd going wild. Ruth couldn’t really blame them; Carmen had a natural likability to her, only enhanced by her character, the sort of smiling giant of the group. And whenever she had a match with Tammé - as was the case of the evening - the screams from the crowd were enough to practically deafen any of the girls who had the misfortune of having to wait behind the curtains, ready to go next. 

There was never a lot of time devoted to waiting when it came to wrestling. That was something it had taken Ruth a while to learn - that the performance had to be maintained at all times, that any falter or slip or brief second _waiting_ for your partner was a second wasted. All it took was one moment for the audience to catch on.

The group as a whole had only been caught out once before. That was in the beginning of their first season. Jenny and Arthie were in the ring - and it wasn’t their fault, not really, because the big move they were trying out for that match hadn’t been practiced nearly enough, and understandably Arthie was a little hesitant, and she hadn’t tossed Jenny to the floor with enough acted force. Some people in the front row, closest to the ring, had caught on, and the chants began. _Bullshit._ The girls waiting to go on froze up - part fear, part shock - and later, Sam disclosed that he’d had to edit out the entire match, just to save the TV audience from witnessing it and catching on, too. It could be really bad for the future of the show. 

Since that moment, they’d been more careful. Every session included practicing not only the moves, but also brushing up on pain faces, on techniques to make the hurt look extra believable. 

Ruth was pretty sure the same mistake wouldn’t happen again, especially in a match as highly-anticipated as Machu Picchu vs Welfare Queen, but it was still a fear. 

It must’ve been on Debbie’s mind, too, because just before they were due to go on, she muttered, “Don’t be afraid to, you know. Get in there.” 

“Right,” Ruth replied, not taking her eyes off of the scene beyond the curtains. The crowd was cheering as Carmen pumped the air with her fist. She’d won, as they all knew she would. Tammé was quietly slipping out of the ring, making way for Carmen’s walk of victory - which of course was only to grant Ruth and Debbie a few extra seconds to get ready, and prepare to get out there themselves. 

“Like, actually grab my hair and shit. I don’t care if it ends up being painful, we’re doing a fucking wrestling show for god’s sake…” 

“Debbie,” Ruth finally turned round. Debbie met her eyes, and there was a brief moment of vulnerability there, of fear. It was gone in less than an instant, of course, but Ruth felt the need to reassure her anyway. “We’ll be fine. We’ve never had a problem before.” 

Debbie said nothing, but stared at her a second longer, just breathing. Then a firm nod. 

* * *

Growing up, Ruth had a near-pathological desire to be liked. It manifested itself in desperate attempts at friendship, in grovelling with friends she’d fallen out with not to leave her, in blindly following whichever trends she was expected to adhere to during that stage of her life. 

When she started on GLOW, she’d thought she was mostly over that. 

But there was still a part of her - the worried fifteen-year-old part of her - that died a little every time the crowd got a little overly zealous in their hatred of her. Of course, for the most part their boos fuelled her, akin to applause during a play. But not this night. 

It was to be expected that the audience could be a little frustrated. This match was the first where the all-American hero _lost -_ which for them, was probably practically unfathomable. She could feel the collective gasp when she pinned Debbie to the ground and didn’t budge, and the outrage when Keith stepped in and called the match for her. She played up the role as best she could, jumping up and down in her victory, aiming a kick at Debbie’s head, and spouting a couple lines about soviet supremacy - but it wasn’t long before the crowd recovered from their shock. 

“Russian cunt!” Someone called, kickstarting a series of insults and jeers. 

“This is bullshit!” Called another, gaining a few yells of agreement. 

Pretty soon, the stands were full of anonymous insults, threats ( _“I should come up there and kick your ass myself!”_ ), and general commotion. Ruth didn’t allow her smug grin to falter, but she was very aware that her breathing had picked up, and she felt the beginnings of tears prick at her eyes. 

Keith, too, seemed overwhelmed. He dropped her hand and motioned for the girls to leave the ring, signalling to Bash to speed up the process of introducing the next match. Graciously, he obliged, and Ruth exited, marching deliberately, trusting that Debbie, too, was close behind her. 

She broke through the curtains but didn’t stop, continuing on to the dressing room, quickening her pace so as not to run into any of the other girls. Debbie was still following her, for some reason that Ruth couldn’t even begin to comprehend. 

She left the door open for her and slumped into one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs, willing herself not to cry.

“What the _fuck_ was that,” Debbie seethed, pacing. “They’re mad out there. How can they do that, look right at us, knowing we’re regular human beings like the rest of them, and shout that kind of, that kind of abuse?” 

Ruth could feel her gaze on her, and looked up once she was confident that no tears would fall. “It’s fine. Just a little…” she wracked her brain, searching for the right word. Not upset, because it wasn’t as if any of it actually _hurt_ her. “Shocked,” she settled for. “I guess I wasn’t prepared for them to be so…animated.” 

“Crazy fuckers,” Debbie said, shaking her head. She seemed to be calming down, at least. That was one less thing Ruth had to worry about. When Debbie was angry, no matter at what, the slightest little mistake could set her off at the nearest person in the room, and Ruth really wasn’t sure that was something she was emotionally equipped to handle, in the moment. 

Still, though… It was kind of amazing that for once - or, for the first time in a long while, at least - Debbie’s anger was directed at the people working _against_ Ruth, rather than at Ruth herself. She was defending her honour, in a way. One could even say she was being protective. 

Old feelings came rushing back - the ones Ruth had mostly put to rest, years ago, and then more recently, whenever they resurfaced - admiration; safety; warmth. Those weren’t things she really associated with Debbie anymore. 

Debbie was still pacing, but it seemed to mainly be because she wasn’t sure what else to do. Clearly she’d followed Ruth into the room without thinking, and now that the anger had melted away, she didn’t have much reason to be there anymore. 

Ruth didn’t want her to leave, though. 

So she opened her mouth to invite her to sit down, but what came out instead was, “your legs are gonna be bruised tomorrow.” 

“Huh?” Debbie asked, then stared down at her legs herself. Ruth wasn’t lying - there was a red impact mark on her thigh from when Ruth had slammed her into the ground. It was harsher than anything they usually picked up in the ring. Debbie touched it, gently. Numb. “Yeah, well. We’re wrestlers, right?” 

“Right, yeah.” Ruth pressed her lips together, testing out the words in her head before she said them. “Sorry about that, by the way.” It wasn’t something she’d usually say after a match - it was part of the job, after all - it would be silly to think that you wouldn’t get bruises and small cuts from the matches - but this was the first time she’d left a mark on Debbie that was actually preventable. This was the first time she actually felt like it was her fault. 

“God, don’t be.” Debbie dismissed this immediately. “Besides,” she gestured at Ruth’s elbow, “I’m pretty sure I done a number on you, too.” 

She was right, the skin on her elbow was scraped and bleeding a little. But Ruth couldn’t be sure it was because of anything Debbie had done. The matches were, for the most part, a blur, and it was more than likely that she’d caused it herself, perhaps by catching it on the ropes or skidding it across the floor. 

But she was pretty sure that Debbie’s apology was supposed to be some kind of gesture, some way for her to convey that they were on the same page - where this was concerned, at least - without using any words. So instead of objecting, she offered up a smile, and thanked her. 

Debbie smiled back, shakily, self-consciously, as if she wasn’t quite sure _how_ to anymore. And sat next to her, studying herself in the mirror critically as they waited for the others to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter.......fought me tooth and nail, tbh. the next one will hopefully be a lil bit easier and less of a filler.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth has some issues in training, and Debbie gets a fright.

“This cold war is about to go down in _history books!”_ Rhonda-as-Brittanica yelled over-theatrically, lunging for Ruth, who pivoted quickly enough for Rhonda to miss and rush into the ropes instead. 

Ruth laughed loudly at her opponent’s faux-outrage, trying to sound as much like a villain as possible. Then, murmured in her regular tone, “and then I guess I’ll say something else, you know, but that can come later…” 

“Later, yeah,” Rhonda agreed, before switching back to Brittanica and pushing herself back against the ropes to run at Ruth once more, right arm outstretched. It barely connected with Ruth’s shoulder, but she did her best to sell the blow, falling hard on her back and screaming. 

This attracted the attention of some of the other girls, training in pairs and waiting for their turn to practice within the ring. The connection of Rhonda’s foot to Ruth’s stomach, preventing her from getting up, earned them a few thumbs up and words of appraisal from Cherry. 

Rhonda waved to the imaginary crowd, allowing Ruth a moment to get up. Then Rhonda noticed, gasped, and moved to kick her again. This time, Ruth grabbed her foot and pulled slightly. Rhonda threw herself to the floor and shrieked, curling in just-shy-of-believable pain. Now it was Ruth’s turn to wave to the nonexistent hordes of people in the stands. After over a year of playing Zoya, it wasn’t difficult to imagine the boos and animated interactions, wasn’t difficult to be able to hype herself up just from the memories of the other matches.

Ruth, unlike Zoya, knew what was coming next. The main trick with wrestling was to pretend that she had no idea. To not flinch away from the upcoming blow. 

She turned back to her opponent. Rhonda had her hands behind her back, because she was holding her book, her prop. Zoya, of course, was unaware of this, and Ruth ad-libbed a couple taunts about how Brittanica was too scared to fight with her fists. She pushed her, Rhonda stumbled backwards, recovered, and made eye contact with Ruth. 

It was time for the big move; the knockout. 

Rhonda launched herself at Ruth, gripping her comically large textbook with two hands as she flung it against Ruth’s head. 

Ruth knew before the prop even touched her that something was about to go wrong. The blow was so hard that she stumbled backwards and fell without grace. This time, there was no acting involved - she couldn’t scream with the shock of it, but groaned. Her head felt numb, but she knew rationally that she should be in pain. Absently, she was aware of Rhonda’s shout, real this time. 

She heard someone enter the ring, and struggled up, but was instantly ordered by Rhonda to “stay down…or something. I mean, I don’t know, but she probably shouldn’t get up, right?” 

From the way Rhonda was talking, Ruth felt it was safe to assume it was Arthie who had came to her rescue. In a way, that was good - Arthie was probably the most qualified person in the room when it came to medical assistance. On the other hand, however, the need for Arthie’s medical assistance meant that there was _a need_ for medical assistance. Which, considering the fact that their next taping was in four days time, wasn’t great. 

The person behind her touched her hairline, the most careful of touches, and Ruth closed her eyes instinctively. If whoever it was was being _that_ gentle, then surely something had to be wrong. 

“She’s bleeding.” 

Ruth’s eyes shot open. _Debbie._

“I didn’t mean to hit her that hard,” Rhonda was babbling, “I, I misjudged how much force it needed, I didn’t think-“ 

“It’s fine,” Ruth tried to say. It came out a little garbled, and she managed to push herself up to demonstrate. 

“No, lie down.” Debbie muttered, sounding part distracted and part annoyed. She beckoned across the hall for Arthie, who came jogging over. 

Ruth lay there, listening to Rhonda and Debbie explain the situation in fragments. She stayed down, did as told, allowed her head to be tilted back and forth by Arthie’s cautious hands. 

“Does anyone have a flashlight?” Arthie asked,  presumably knowing how hopeless the question was. 

“I can check Sam’s office,” Debbie suggested, uncharacteristically earnest, and at Arthie’s nod, slipped out of the ring. 

Rhonda was crouching beside Ruth, suddenly in her line of vision. She tried to focus on her, but it was difficult. 

“I’m really sorry, Ruth, I don’t know what went wrong, it was my fault I’m sure, we don’t have to do that move at all if you don’t want to anymore, I understand…” she was speaking too fast and it took a minute for Ruth to work out that Rhonda was apologising. 

“It’s not your fault,” she offered. “I don’t think we’ve practiced that enough, that’s all. We should still do it - just, you know, with a little more practice before the taping?” 

Rhonda nodded, and squeezed her hand. This was, in Ruth’s opinion, all a little too dramatic - she might be feeling fuzzy and in pain, but it wasn’t like she was going to die. Just, if she could have a couple minutes to recoup herself, then she could get right back into training. 

Debbie appeared in her peripheral vision, closely followed by Sam. 

“I got it,” she called to Arthie, before clambering into the ring. She passed the flashlight to Arthie, then sat in the adjacent corner, keeping a careful distance, because of course. 

Sam reached under the ropes, awkwardly passing her a paper cup. She sat up slowly, and with perhaps more aid than was necessary, taking a sip. 

“How do you feel?” Arthie asked, fiddling with the flashlight, testing the battery. 

Sore. Dizzy. Nauseous. “Fine,” she lied. 

The latter rolled her eyes, and Ruth could swear she heard a scoff from Debbie’s direction. 

Arthie moved closer, and turned on the flashlight, shining it directly into Ruth’s eyes. Ruth flinched away automatically, her headache persisting, but Arthie seemed to have gotten all the information she needed. 

“Mild concussion,” she announced, confidently. Then, less confidently, “I’m pretty sure, anyway.”

“What should we do?” Debbie asked. Ruth couldn’t tell by her voice the reason for her concern - although, knowing Debbie, she was probably just worried about the match, about who Liberty Belle would be wrestling in just a few days time. The _“we”_ was a slight comfort, though. Evidently she included herself in the group of people responsible for Ruth’s recovery. 

“She needs rest,” Arthie concluded. “I mean, it doesn’t seem too serious - you didn’t pass out, or anything,” she was directing the rest to Ruth, apparently. “I’ll help you back to your room. You should sleep.” 

Ruth looked to Rhonda, helplessly. What about practice? They were never going to perfect the move if Ruth wasn’t able to be there.

“It’s fine,” Rhonda said, as if reading her mind. “We can practice tomorrow, if you’re better. And if you’re not, well… We can work something else out.” The last part sounded entirely more doubtful. 

“What about the blood?” Debbie piped up.

“It’s just a scrape,” Arthie responded, easily. “A band-aid will do.” 

“Oh, I carry some in my purse,” Debbie said. At what Ruth could only assume were incredulous stares, she justified her response with one word, “Randy.” 

“Well, if that’s the case, grab your purse,” Arthie took Ruth’s arm, helping her turn to get out of the ring, “and follow us.” She gestured for Sheila’s help to support Ruth out of the ring, then each propped her up with an arm. 

Ruth felt it was all a bit excessive, but she allowed them to help her walk. Debbie caught up as they were leaving the gym, and shoved a box of children’s patterned band-aids into Arthie’s hands. Without skipping a beat, she unwrapped one and placed it gently on the small cut on her forehead. 

Nodding once at her handiwork, she continued on. For reasons Ruth couldn’t comprehend in the moment, Debbie tagged along too, despite the fact that she’d already done her duty. Ruth wasn’t going to question it.

* * *

She’d had some tylenol and insisted upon making it into her room and lying down without the help of Arthie and Sheila. They didn’t leave however, instead hovering around, waiting to step in if Ruth fainted. 

She lay down gently, before realising that she’d need to prop her head up more to combat the dizziness. Sitting up too fast made her head spin, and she paused for a moment, feeling heavy-lidded all of a sudden. 

Debbie, who had been hovering in a no-more-detached way than Sheila and Arthie, spoke up from the doorway. Ruth hadn’t been aware of her coming in, but then, she felt like she was experiencing everything in a distorted way, as if events were only being processed by her brain a few minutes after they had happened. 

It wasn’t much of a shock when Debbie offered to help with the pillows. “I mean,” she justified, “you’re clearly not up for it, and, I don’t want you to do any more damage to yourself.” She cracked a weak smile. “Zoya needs to be ready for the ring in four days.” 

“I’ll try not to make things worse,” Ruth said, watching Debbie as she moved around the bed, arranging the pillows against the headboard and finally, gesturing for Ruth to lay back. It was a degree of gentleness that she wasn’t expecting, but then again, Debbie was a mother. She knew how to take care of people. 

The shock, she guessed, was in the fact that Debbie was willing to take care of _her._

In the smallest, most impersonal way, of course, but nonetheless. 

Debbie moved away again, but not towards the door. She tensed, seemingly making a firm decision, and sat primly on the edge of Sheila’s bed. 

Ruth scooted upwards a little so she didn’t have to crane her neck as much to see her. Debbie seemed like she had something to say, and whatever it was had to be important, if she was willing to spend time sitting across from Ruth. 

But instead of speaking, she just stared at her for a moment. Her eyes seemed to travel from Ruth’s arms - no doubt tracking the bruises she’d acquired during training - to her face, to the brightly coloured band-aid on her forehead. 

“I hate blood,” she said eventually. 

Ruth narrowed her eyes. This wasn’t true, but for once she didn’t reprimand herself for seeking a deeper meaning. Perhaps what Debbie was inferring was that she hated the sight of blood on other people. On Ruth.

“Well, I’ll try not to, next time. You know, absorb the blow into my head a little more. Really enhance the inevitable concussion.” 

Debbie rolled her eyes, which was a step below actually laughing at Ruth’s attempts at humour, and step above becoming angry at the suggestion of joking around together. She opened and closed her mouth, like maybe she was about to say something and thought better of it. 

“I’ll tell Rhonda to be more careful. Maybe you shouldn’t do the move at all, it clearly isn’t safe.” 

Ruth scoffed; nothing about wrestling was remotely _safe._

Debbie must have caught her drift. She shook her head, correcting herself. “I mean, it’s _less_ safe. Using props, they’re…harder to control.” 

Ruth nodded, unsure of where the conversation could possibly go from there. Talking to Debbie, especially alone, was always awkward. She had to be grateful though that it was (for the most part, at least) _only_ awkward. The anger that had been present in their pauses and conversations ever since Debbie found out about Ruth and Mark had slowly dwindled over the period of time they had been working together until gradually it left completely. Ruth couldn’t pinpoint when the change happened, but it was blissfully noticeable in all of their interactions.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Debbie watched her. Maybe it was the fact that she had just sustained a concussion, or maybe it was the tylenol, but Ruth felt emboldened enough to catch her gaze. Ruth’s brain cycled through memories, trying to put a name to whatever it was that looking into Debbie’s eyes made her feel. They were young and discussing the auditions they went to; they were stepping into the ring together for the first time; Debbie was reminding Ruth that sometimes she was really sad that she took away the opportunity for them to ever have a normal fucking conversation. 

“You care about me.” She came to the conclusion relatively quickly. For once, she wasn’t reading too much into one of she and Debbie’s interactions - the fact that she cared, even just a little, was present. It had been for a lot longer than Debbie would probably admit. 

Again, this wasn’t the type of thing Ruth would usually allow herself to say. But she was feeling reckless, and there was a comfort in the certainty of the job - no matter how Debbie reacted to her statement, they were still going to be working together the next day, and the day after that.

Debbie looked away, and pressed her lips together. “Well. You scared me.” It wasn’t an admission, exactly, but it was close enough. 

Ruth smiled, shaky with hope and glad that Debbie couldn’t see her. “I’ll try not to. Next time.” 

Debbie stood up, began to leave, talking distractedly as she did so. “ _Not_ funny, don’t you dare injure yourself like this again.” 

Ruth chuckled, mostly enjoying winding her up. “I’ll see you in the ring,” she called, before Debbie fully closed the door. 

“See you,” Debbie replied. 

The door closed gently, and Ruth was left in darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me being emo af about these two on my tumblr (@ruthwilderz)


End file.
